


Curtains

by Internerdionality



Series: Sugar Daddy 'Verse [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: BDSM, Bottom Clark Kent, Curtain Fic, Interior Decorating, M/M, Sugar Daddy, Top Bruce Wayne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:48:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24092344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Internerdionality/pseuds/Internerdionality
Summary: This is an outtake from Mutually Beneficial, my long SuperBat sugar daddy fic, but can be read as a stand-alone. Blatantly self-indulgent interior decoration porn, with a smattering of actual porn.
Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Series: Sugar Daddy 'Verse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1706923
Comments: 22
Kudos: 126





	Curtains

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gement](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gement/gifts).



> This scene takes place between Chapters 11 and 12 of Mutually Beneficial. If you’re reading as a standalone, all you need to know is Clark has recently moved into a nice apartment provided by Bruce, his sugar daddy. Clark knows that Bruce is Batman—Bruce does not know that Clark is Superman. Clark uses kryptonite to be mortal when they’re together. If not knowing the original apartment layout is annoying, it’s described in [Chapter 3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23701693/chapters/57238612) of the main work.

“You know,” Bruce said while visiting Clark one night, apropos of nothing. “I didn’t set up a fifty-thousand-dollar moving and remodeling account because that was the upper ‘I can’t imagine you’ll spent this much’ limit. I expect you to use it.”

“Um.” Clark said, somewhat taken aback at the subject; it hadn’t been _exactly_ what he’d anticipated, when Bruce had strapped him down naked on the bed and gotten out two leather floggers.

“You’ve been living here for two weeks. Other than having a couple guys move in your stuff and setting up your home office, you haven’t done _anything_ with that money,” Bruce commented, stroking the leather lashes gently along Clark’s limbs. “You haven’t even gotten a new bed set.”

Clark squirmed on top of the black and silver Pratesi sateen Egyptian cotton sheets; one of the two sets that had, in fact, come with the apartment. 

“I, um, oh god—” Clark shivered as the leather tickled across some more sensitive spots, “—I don’t really need, _ahh_!” He yelped as the thinner, longer flogger whish-cracked across his legs with a sharp sting. 

“Clark, Clark, Clark,” Bruce reproved, the lashes softly stroking again down his side, “It’s not about what you need.”

 _Thwack._ That was the shorter, thicker flogger, with the explicitly dual-purpose hilt made out of several bulbs of black-stained wood. Clark gritted his teeth, determined not to cry out again—at least, so soon.

“Stubborn,” Bruce reproved. The thin flogger cracked down again, hitting Clark across the chest. He grunted.

“Well, then,” Clark said roughly, “I don’t _want_ to spend a bunch of your money redoing the apartment. It’s already _nice_ —” he hissed the last sibilant as the thin flogger came down again, “—enough.”

“It’s not about what you _want_ , either.” Bruce said, bringing down the thick flogger hard on Clark’s upper thigh. He bit back a shriek. Bruce leaned over him, mouthing at the red marks he’d just inflicted.

“What is it— _ahhh_ —about, then?”

“I would have thought that was obvious,” Bruce said, retreating. Clark whined a little, in spite of himself. The thick flogger came down again, on the opposite thigh this time. “It’s about what _I_ want.” The thin flogger lashed across Clark’s neck and jaw, and he hissed again with the pain. “You do want to please me, don’t you?”

“Ye _-eessss_ ,” Clark agreed, as the thick flogger cracked across his stomach once, “I want to please you, I— _ennhh,_ ”— and twice. 

“That’s right,” Bruce approved, bringing the thin flogger down three times in quick succession, stinging lashes across Clark’s inner thighs. “And it pleases me to spoil my good boy. You want to be my good boy, don’t you?”

“Yes, _please_ ,” Clark said, whimpering.

“Say it,” Bruce commanded, bringing the thick flogger down twice more. The pain and heat from the lashes were now high enough that Clark wasn’t certain anymore where the blows were landing.

“I— _uhhh_ —I want to be your good boy,” Clark pled, arching against the bed.

The two floggers crashed down together, Bruce wielding one in each hand. Clark shouted.

“But you _haven’t_ been good, have you?” Bruce asked, bringing them down again and again. “You haven’t been letting me spoil you.”

“Please, I’m sorry, _please,_ I’ll be good,” Clark babbled, as the lashes rained down.

“How will you be good?”

“I’ll buy things for the apartment, _please,_ I promise, _daddy_ , please, _ahhhh_!” Clark started shaking from the physical pain of the blows combined with the emotional hurt of being scolded in subspace.

Bruce tossed the floggers aside and crawled over Clark, breathing rapidly, the soft black silk pajamas he wore sliding soothingly over Clark’s afflicted flesh. Laying his body flush on his lover’s, Bruce pulled his bottoms down just enough and began grinding urgently, biting and sucking at Clark’s chest.

“Oh, fuck, you’re so hot,” Bruce panted. “God, I could hurt you and fuck you for hours, for _days_ …”

“Please, Bruce, _ahhh,_ please come for me,” Clark whispered. Bruce shuddered against him, groaning, and wetness spurted against his hip. They laid there for several minutes, breath and heart rates slowing, Bruce’s body providing a reassuring weight on top of Clark. Finally, Bruce took a few deep breaths and pushed himself up on his elbows, kissed Clark lingeringly, and then stood.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” Bruce said raggedly. “Now, ten more lashes, so you remember this lesson, and then you get your reward. Which flogger do you want?”

“Thin,” Clark said, shivering anticipatory. The thin hurt _sharpest_ but the thick flogger hurt _harder._

“Count them down.”

Clark nodded frantically. The thick flogger—Bruce was _evil_ —cracked down diagonally across his chest.

“Ten,” Clark said tightly.

 _Crack,_ a little harder, the same place. “Nine.”

 _Crack,_ harder still. Oh god. “Eight.”

 _Crack_ , oh, it hurt. “Seven.”

 _Crack,_ he could take it, he could, he was _good_. “Six.”

“Halfway there, sweetheart, you’re doing great.”

 _Crack,_ that one was even worse than the doubled ones before had been. “Five.”

 _Crack_ , like a line of fire. Clark bit back tears. “Four.”

 _Crack_ , he could do this, for Bruce, “Three.”

 _Crack,_ oh god, he couldn’t, he couldn’t take one harder than that, it hurt so bad. “Two!”

 _Thwack,_ a light lash, like the early warmups, still stinging but feeling like a caress after the severe blows that had preceded it. And yet somehow, for Clark, who had braced himself for the hardest hit yet, the gentle slap felt like a hammer. He couldn’t stop the couple of tears that ran down his face.

“That’s right, baby, let it out,” Bruce said encouragingly, laying himself back over Clark, pressing him down into the mattress. He laved Clark’s red chest with his tongue and lips soothingly, patiently, holding Clark.

“You took that so well,” Bruce praised, petting him. He unstrapped Clark’s wrists. “So good for me.”

“Thank you.” Clark said when he could speak again, savoring the still, quiet space he was inhabiting. 

“And you’re going to use up that decorating fund, right?”

“Yes.”

“Good boy. What do you want for your reward?”

Clark was silent for a while. He had a very hard time asking for things in subspace beyond answering simple yes/no or multiple choice questions, with all his instincts gearing him to care for nothing but pleasing his Dom. Bruce waited him out, patiently, providing deep pressure all along Clark’s body, stretching his limbs out to cover Clark’s, and holding Clark’s wrists in a tight grip.

“Your mouth, please,” Clark said, finally.

“Good job, baby,” Bruce encouraged. Slithering down, he unstrapped Clark’s ankles and slowly mouthed his way from the soles of Clark’s feet up to his groin. Lifting Clark’s legs over his shoulders, Bruce licked and sucked at him gently, prolonging out the pleasure, careful to avoid overstimulation. Clark quivered and twisted underneath him, grinding up into his warm, wet mouth, until with a shudder, he came, crying out with the aching sweetness of it. Bruce lapped him up contentedly until he shuddered and twisted away. Clark hummed gratefully as Bruce wiped them both down with hot towels from the crockpot next to the bed and spooned up behind him, cradling him in tight arms.

* * *

After that, of course, Clark had to obediently start putting his own touches into the apartment. He still didn’t see the point in spending a ton of money to change around an apartment that he was supposed to move out of in less than year. However, after some thought of what would be most comfortable for him and also improve the apartment for future residents, he had the windows in his bedroom enlarged and got the carpet throughout the apartment stripped and replaced with reclaimed parquet cherrywood. Especially with a cat in the apartment, the carpet retained just too many odors, even with frequent cleaning, to be entirely comfortable with his super smell.

The only other structural change he made was to hire a local artist to create a huge, realistic cat “tree” in the northeast corner of the great room, made out of actual wood, with branches and leaves extending along the ceiling and roots growing out into the cabinets on either side. The roots were covered in green “moss” that the cat could enjoy scratching, and the top branches were adorned with cat-friendly potted vines and flowers. It cut off a little of the huge windows on that corner, but also gave the apartment a quirky, more personable atmosphere, which Clark valued. Anyway, he figured that since Bruce had let Selina leave Gertrude as a permanent fixture in the apartment, he might as well customize things for her.

_“You and Selina, I swear,” Bruce laughed. “Spend money on yourselves? No! On a cat? Yes!”_

_“Selina had trouble spending money on herself?” Clark asked, arching an eyebrow._

_“Well… Selina is also basically a cat.”_

Finally, Clark replaced the slide-down, motorized shutters in the great room with heavy, navy-blue curtains. It took much longer to draw them than it had to hit the button and let the shutters slam down, but at least now the room didn’t feel nearly so much like a cage when the windows were covered.

_“Why navy? Why not black?”_

_“The apartment already has enough black, with the couches, the fireplace, all the kitchen appliances. I like having more color.”_

_“There's no such thing as too much black, Clark.”_

_“No, Bruce. Besides, I like the way the cherrywood and navy fabric look together.”_

_“Patriotic to the core, huh, Clark?”_

_“Yeah, Bruce, you got me—I’m just a dyed-in-the-wool French-Italian.”_

For the rest, with Bruce’s assurance that he could take anything movable with him when he left, Clark was willing to splurge a bit more. With larger windows brightening the room, he was able to redecorate the bedroom with heavier tones without making it feel cramped. He repainted three of the walls from their original white to more of a soft grey, then put in a brick-red accent on the wall across from his bed and perpendicular to the windows. He kept the existing heavy oak furniture: bedside tables, bookcases, dressers, and a king-sized bed with a large slatted headboard and waist-high posts at the bottom, which made for easy tie-downs without making it look like a piece of dungeon furniture. However, he got a couple plush navy carpet runners for the sides of the bed, which could be swapped out and thoroughly cleaned so they didn’t grate his sensitive nose. He also got rid of the full-length triptych mirror—he didn’t like seeing himself constantly—and put in a smaller mirror on the back of the closet door. Finally, remembering the start of his punishment with a grin, he got two sets of soft plaid cotton sheets and complementary dark red and blue duvets.

_“I can’t properly torture you on plaid sheets, Clark. It ruins the mood.”_

_“… yeah, that’s fair. I’ll keep the others and swap them out when you come over. That way my good plaid ones don’t get wrecked, anyway.”_

_“Good to know you have your priorities straight.”_

_“Bruce, please! Nothing about me is_ straight _.”_

_“I apologize, you’re absolutely right.”_

For the main room, he found a couple beautiful area rugs with geometric patterns made by some locals who had fled to Gotham from Baku a couple decades back. They were dominated by blues and creams but had ornate red and cream borders, and they served excellently to add texture to the room and protect the new flooring under the tables. He also indulged in a couple dark blue chenille throw blankets for the couches—he rarely felt cold, even while wearing his blue kryptonite ring, but the blankets were soft and felt good to curl up in. He left the excellently equipped kitchen alone, other than replacing the fragile-looking white and silver porcelain dinnerware with an earthier ceramic set in strong solid sunset colors. Lastly, he called up a friend from high school who made custom gaming tables (which he’d gazed longingly at too many times) and placed an order. The finished table was enchantingly beautiful, a hexagonal six-top that fit perfectly in the previously empty northeast corner of the room, with a raised lip and navy velvet liner for gaming and a removable top for regular dining. He went a little crazy with accessories, adding removable extra shelves, card slots, pull-out cup-holders, and even a programmable LED strip along the inside lip. He didn’t know how he was going to hang on to that table through however many moves might be in his future, and he didn’t care.

_“I like the wood lip with the velvet. It should make for an interesting contrast when I bend you over it.”_

_“We are not fucking on my $6,000 gaming table, Bruce.”_

_“I can always buy you another one.”_

_“_ No _, Bruce.”_

_“Hmph, seems like someone is overdue for a spanking.”_

_“As long as it’s not on my table.”_

The books Clark had moved in with, including all but the most expensive of his comics, fit neatly on the shelves in his bedroom and home office. To replace the show books Bruce had stored in the main room, Clark had the fun of going to all his favorite independent bookstores and filling up entire carts full of new and used hardcovers. The first several cases filled up with nonfiction; a variety of gender and sexuality texts, human rights and activist primers, and various modern treatises on politics, history, sociology, and philosophy. The rest were devoted to Clark’s fiction collection. Old, nostalgic classics from his childhood that he still enjoyed as comfort reads went on the lower, harder-to-reach shelves: Lackey’s older stuff; Cabot, Pierce, Norton, and Wrede. Next to those went the bloodthirsty adventure books he’d enjoyed as a teen: mainly Gemmell, Eddings, and Weber. In one corner, where they were less likely to be noticed, he put his guilty pleasures from before he’d discovered queer fanfic online: Shinn, Butcher, Briggs, Harrison, Harris, and Hamilton. Above these, he put the authors who had held up better over the years—Huff and Patton; Le Guin, Griffith, and Butler (of course); Bujold, Stirling, Gaiman, and Pratchett—as well as the newer authors he followed now, for the rare occasions he had time for pleasure reading: Okorafor, McGuire, Jemison, and Meadows. He even got a few of his favorite novel-length fanfics—Known Associates by thingswithwings, for example—printed and bound in matching brown leather.

“ _You could have gotten all the new books custom bound… they’d look nicer on the shelf.”_

_“I like all the colorful covers.”_

_“Hnh. Of course you do.”_

_“You know, you’re doing a lot of kvetching for someone who wanted me to redecorate in order to_ please _him.”_

_“Yes, but mocking you for your choices is part of the pleasure. First I spoil you, then I torture you… then I get to make it all better.”_

For art, he and Bruce nearly had another fight.

_“I cannot live in an apartment that has something worth that much up on the wall. I’ve been freaking out ever since I realized that Klimt landscape was an original!”_

_“It’s not a famous one.”_

_“But it’s still a Klimt, Bruce! If you have to show off how rich you are, you could commission some great artists who are alive now, instead of hoarding priceless pieces that should be in a museum.”_

_“Don’t give me that. The entire Wayne collection cycles through museums in both Gotham and Metropolis. It’s not hurting anyone to have pieces sitting in the Manor and my other properties for a few months out of the year.”_

_“But—”_

_“But, if it makes you uncomfortable, fine. Why don’t you go ahead and commission a few pieces, then? Or just shop around at your favorite artists and get some things you like.”_

_“I—huh. Yeah, I guess I could do that.”_

So Clark went to Gotham Comic Con the next month with a mission and a couple thousand dollars in cash. He got signed copies of one of his favorite series, versions of the Disney princesses holding protest signs by Amanda Niday, and matched them with commissioned sets of the same princesses done up as velociraptors by Laura Cooper (she’d already had several, but had to do a couple of the more obscure ones special) and comic book warriors by James Jean. The fact that having a dozen triptychs of Disney princesses lining the hallway drove Bruce batty—pun very much intended—was just an extra plus. For the bathroom, he commissioned several framed drawings from Dylan Edwards, a queer ace trans man that he’d hit it off with at the con; their charming whimsey seemed to suit the space. His home office didn’t need a lot, since he _had_ gone wild there prior to Bruce’s intervention, with a new desk and triple-monitor Mac setup and his old set of Jimmy’s senior project from college, a series of nude photographs of trans people. However, to fill up the one bare wall, he commissioned Ash to do an oil painting of themself, Jimmy, Lois, and Clark, from a photograph Jimmy had taken with a timer back when they’d all been dating. In his bedroom, he created a gallery across two walls with a large variety of small pieces, mostly from the con but also from other local artists he knew, differently sized and framed and clumped together in abstract patterns. He got about three times as many pieces as would fit and kept the extras in a box in the closet so that he could swap out pieces every so often and keep the presentation fresh.

The main room didn’t actually allow for much extra art, with the walls covered as they were with windows, bookcases, and cabinets. However, Clark swapped out the scattered statuary that Bruce had left with his collection of bobblehead funko pop figures and supplemented them with a number of commissioned funkos from artists who bought cheap ones and customized them into figures that weren’t enough in demand to be mass-market produced. He spaced these out on the bookshelves; figures of all his favorite fictional characters in front of the book series they came from, and a series of his favorite historical and political figures—Booker T. Washington and Sojourner Truth, Silvia Rivera and Marsha P. Johnson, the current women on the Supreme Court and the House Squad, etc., on the nonfiction shelves.

_“Bobbleheads, Clark?”_

_“You said you wanted me to remodel the apartment.”_

_“And so you replaced my bronze reproduction of Artemis of the Silver Bow with a_ bobblehead doll of Mary Poppins _.”_

_“The apartment does feel much more like me, now—you were right!”_

_“Gertrude keeps knocking them off the damn cabinets and then I step on them in the night!”_

_“Fortunately, they’re cheap and easy to replace. And it shows she likes them, too…”_

_“Oh, that’s it. On your knees, brat.”_

_“But, Bruce…”_

_“Now.”_

Clark’s collection of Justice League figures got the prize position in the center of the coffee table, grouped facing outward in a classic “last stand” circle. He’d put Batman and Superman on opposite sides, not wanting to give anything away. He’d tried not to read too much into it when he wandered by one morning and noticed that Bruce had rearranged them to put them next to each other. That was their usual battle position, after all.

The space above the fireplace was the hardest to fill. Finally, Clark sent a message to Silvia Pelissero and asked her how much she would charge for a commissioned Agnes Cecile oil and watercolor painting. Upon her instructions, he sent her an eyewatering amount of money and a video of himself and Bruce, trading jibes and kisses. When he got the piece back a couple months later, however, he could only stare in stunned awe. She had painted the two of them from the shoulders up, embracing each other in semi-profile. Bruce was reproduced in dark, bruised tones, wild energetic dark swirls the color of an oil slick looming behind him, while Clark was painted in warm, vibrant colors with a shimmering halo. However, Bruce’s eyes were formed of pure luminescent color, echoing Clark, while dark streams came out of Clark’s eyes and mouth and raised hands, reaching out to Bruce. Clark placed the painting above the fireplace with shaking hands and nervously waited for Bruce to see it. When he did, he stood silent in front of it for a long time.

“Yes,” he said, finally. “That’s exactly how I see us.”

_I went to Azerbaijan in 2004 and holy crap they have beautiful textiles. I was only able to afford a couple small pieces but wow if I were rich…_

_Clark’s board game table was made by artists at_ [ _https://www.boardgametables.com_ ](https://www.boardgametables.com/) _. I have been staring lustingly at those tables for years, and if I ever have an extra $5K to spend on a table (i.e., if I win the lottery, because they only way I would do that is if I’d already given all of my friends currently in need, which is most of them, a shit-ton of money…). And, hilariously, they are actually based in Kansas._

 _Inspiration for cat tree (although Clark’s would be thinner along the trunk and spread out more on the ceiling and sides, and also more cheerful and less gothic!_ [ _https://www.reddit.com/r/GTAGE/comments/bf0nvi/if_you_like_treesand_cats/_ ](https://www.reddit.com/r/GTAGE/comments/bf0nvi/if_you_like_treesand_cats/)

_Check out paintings by Agnes Cecile (Silvia Pelissero), her work sends shivers down my spine:_ [ _https://agnescecile.com_ ](https://agnescecile.com/)

_Although James Jean has not, as far as I know, done a Disney Princess series, I love his work and think Clark would, too:_ [ _http://www.jamesjean.com/_ ](http://www.jamesjean.com/)

_Amanda Niday’s protest princess series and other work:_ [ _https://society6.com/amandaallenniday_ ](https://society6.com/amandaallenniday)

_Laura Cooper’s website seems to be down, but her velociraptor princess series went viral a few years back and is delightful (albeit not as extensive as Niday’s)._

_Dylan Edwards’ artwork is here (also big thanks to him for helping me with some of my questions about the best way to write Clark’s gender in this fic) :_ [ _http://feepingcreatures.com_ ](http://feepingcreatures.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> A couple parts of this were written and/or envisioned while I was writing Mutually Beneficial; I took them out because I figured no one really wanted a whole ‘nother section of interior decoration porn. [Gement](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gement) convinced me otherwise, so I fleshed it out. Hope y’all enjoyed it!


End file.
